


Love, Actually (Is a Pretty Good Plot Device)

by notfreyja, Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Series: Doubt The Stars [13]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deleted Scenes, F/F, F/M, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfreyja/pseuds/notfreyja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: Life finds a way. It gets you laid, it gets you dumped, it gets you stranded in the middle of San Francisco at 0300 without a communicator. Whatever it has up its sleeve... it finds a way.(Or in which we give you, without further ado, the deleted scenes, codas, and glimpses into the future of the Doubt the Stars 'verse. We didn't forget you.)





	1. Brad Pitt is Not the Only Attractive Human

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [not-freyja](https://not-freyja.tumblr.com) and [straight-outta-hobbiton](https://straight-outta-hobbiton.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

 

After… everything, T’Pring sticks around. Uhura gets it. The girl’s trying to find her place in a new world, a place where her parents, friends, and husband are all gone, leaving jagged, open wounds in their place. She was a lucky one— she’s alive, and there are people willing to let Vulcan etiquette slide in favor of T’Pring feeling better. Not that she isn’t everything a Vulcan should be, of course— T’Pring has a better grasp of her emotions than even Sarek, sometimes— but she’s allowed to be irrational, if she wants to, and Uhura thinks that counts for a lot.

 

T’Pring shares a room with her. Gaila and Scotty hit it off pretty well, it seems, and putting T’Pring in that room when Gaila’s on the prowl… Jim thought better of that.

 

So Uhura and T’Pring share a room. T’Pring is clean, quiet, and thoughtful, and Uhura enjoys her company. They spend their early mornings on the back porch, talking culture and fashion and whatever else comes to mind.

 

They speak Vulcan. T’Pring has taken it upon herself to perfect Uhura’s grasp of the language.

 

It’s another morning, the morning after Jim’s given the Enterprise and the rest of the crew is sleeping off a night of celebration. Uhura’s hair is still wrapped for bed, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the autumn wind.

 

T’Pring takes her customary seat beside her, setting down two cups of sweet-smelling, Terran tea.

 

“So you will return to the stars,” she remarks, for once in English. “All of you.”

 

“As soon as the  _ Enterprise _ is ready to go,” Uhura agrees.

 

T’Pring nods.

 

“It will be strange, without the crew,” she says. “I have grown accustomed to the constant company.”

 

“It’ll be weird without you there,” Uhura says honestly. “The Chief of Communications has their own quarters, you know.”

 

“Do they?”

 

“They do.”

 

“That is acceptable.” T’Pring sips her tea. “I do not like the idea of you sharing quarters with someone else.”

 

Uhura blinks.

 

“Why?”

 

T’Pring looks at her.

 

“I believe I have grown fond of you.”

 

Uhura freezes, because she can’t be putting this together right. Yeah, T’Pring’s beautiful (drop-dead gorgeous) and yeah maybe Uhura’s been a little bit more friendly than one ought to be with Vulcans, but T’Pring isn’t— is she reciprocating? She can’t be reciprocating.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

T’Pring arches an eyebrow.

 

“You are an intelligent woman, Uhura,” she says. “One with a certain understanding of Vulcan ways. You understand completely. You simply do not believe it.” She sips her tea. “I have no idea why. You have matched me in most conversations, have shown your interest— albeit in an overt, Human way— and, to be truthful, you have drawn my eye since our second meeting. Perhaps even before, in an objective way.”

 

Translation: T’Pring thinks she’s hot. Has thought so since they met at Jim and Spock’s wedding.

 

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You do not have to make a decision,” T’Pring informs her gently. “We have not known each other long, and I do not believe myself ready for another relationship. Though it is not visible to most non-Vulcans, I am still recovering from the loss of Stonn.”

 

Uhura’s lips pinch. Is she an asshole, for forgetting about Stonn? Probably.

 

“It is strange,” T’Pring says, apparently unbothered by Uhura’s silence. “Vulcan teachings would suggest my place among such emotional beings would harm my recovery, but I find myself pondering the possibility that the support system granted to me by Jim and the rest of your crew may be more effective. The goodness that fills this house is sometimes… overwhelming.”

 

Her eyes are soft when Uhura meets them again.

 

“Humans often speak of warmth when they speak of home, happiness, and love,” she says. “I did not understand until Gaila brought me here. Not truly.”

 

Uhura swallows.

 

“You know, you talk about emotions a lot,” she says. “Especially considering the time I’ve spent with other Vulcans.”

 

“You have spent time with Spock,” T’Pring corrects. “He is not like other Vulcans. He has something to prove.”

 

Uhura sits back.

 

“I guess.”

 

T’Pring shifts just slightly, letting their shoulders brush.

 

“I do not believe I would be so open if not for Jim and Gaila,” she admits. “They corrupted me when I was young, opening me to possibilities outside of Vulcan teachings.”

 

“What are you going to do once we leave?”

 

“I do not know.” She moves closer, close enough that Uhura feels the urge to relax and lean her head on her shoulder. “But I think Jim would call that… fun.”

 

Uhura snorts.

 

“Jim likes mystery.”

 

“So do I, sometimes,” T’Pring says. “You have not given me an answer.”

 

“I…” Uhura thinks about it. “I think… I’d like to try. I enjoy your company.”

 

“I know. You project quite clearly.”

 

She flushes. That means Spock…

 

“Spock is aware. He is pleased by this development.”

 

Oh, well then.

 

T’Pring pushes back the sleeve of her robe. She holds up two fingers— an invitation.

 

Uhura stares a moment, then reaches out with two fingers of her own, pressing lightly against green skin.

 

“Yes,” T’Pring says, eyes sliding shut. “I think we may be compatible.”

 

Uhura gives in and lets herself lean. T’Pring lets her.

 

“Jim’s going to freak.”

 

“Yes,” T’Pring agrees. “He put money on you being the one to… ‘make the first move’.”

 

Uhura laughs.

 

“Of course he did,” she says, watching T’Pring idly twine their fingers together. “I wonder who won?”

 

“Spock. I informed him of my decision to approach you upon recognizing my own interest in a relationship.”

 

“Oh. When was that?”

 

“Approximately three nights after Gaila and I arrived.”

 

Something about that makes Uhura feel warm. She cuddles closer, nose brushing against the soft cotton of T’Pring’s borrowed sleep shirt.

 

“I think I might have a thing for Vulcans,” she confesses, words muffled by T’Pring’s shoulder.

 

“I find many of the actors in Jim’s holovids sexually attractive,” T’Pring says, eyes still closed. “Particularly Brad Pitt and Maureen O’Hara. With that in mind, it is perhaps safe to say that I have a ‘thing’ for Humans.”

 

“We make quite a match, then.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

They sit like that for a while, until the sounds of hungover officers filter through the house and their tea’s long since gone cold. Uhura would have liked to sit longer, but it’s her turn to make breakfast.

 

Gaila’s the only one in the kitchen when they go back inside. She takes one look at the pair of them and perks like she isn’t horribly hungover.

 

“It happened, didn’t it?” She gets to her feet. “It happened, right? You guys—?”

 

“I have informed Uhura of my interest,” T’Pring says. “She has accepted.”

 

Gaila squeals, winces, then hugs them both.

 

“This is awesome,” she says. “This is perfect. All my friends, all together. This is gonna be freaking great!”

 

Uhura rolls her eyes at Gaila’s excitement as she bounds upstairs, likely to tell Jim. She turns to T’Pring.

 

“You can call me Nyota,” she says. “I’d like that.”

 

“Nyota,” T’Pring repeats, testing out the name. “What does it mean?”

 

“Star.”

 

“A name aptly given, then.” T’Pring looks at her and just… Oh. “Thank you, Nyota.”

 

“There’s no need—”

 

There’s a crash from upstairs, the thud of someone falling off the bed. Jim’s voice echoes through the house.

 

“ _ What do you mean, Spock won? _ ”

 

Uhura sighs, shaking her head. A tremor of good humor slides down her spine as T’Pring brushes her fingers against the back of her neck.

 

In the end, it’s another morning with the crew of the  _ Enterprise _ .

 

A good start to any day.


	2. Winona Ain't Dumb, Just Stupid

The Vulcans aren’t as messed up as Humans would be, given the situation. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t secretly losing it inside— they’re just a lot more polite about their freakouts, which Humans aren’t, and work to keep their screaming internal. Winona has always appreciated that about them.

 

Syruk won’t touch her for the entirety of the trip back to Earth. Winona gets it. He’s not in a good place right now. He’s not ready for Human emotionality to be a part of his mental equation. She understands, and acts accordingly, taking a room with two beds instead of the usual one and using her newly discovered quiet time to catch up on her reading. Jim sent her a new book series two birthdays ago and she just hasn’t had the time until now to actually read it.

 

The trip goes by quickly, Syruk caught up in meditation and Winona entranced by an overly complicated plot about nobles and knowing nothing and everybody dying for no goddamn reason. It isn’t until their second night in a San Franciscan hotel that Syruk really talks to her at all.

 

“When the news came,” he starts as she settles into bed— her bed, not theirs. “About Vulcan, you were lost in thought. You would not tell me what you were thinking of.”

 

Winona stares at him, face a careful rendition of Vulcan stoicism.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Would you tell me now?”

 

“... It’s stupid.”

 

“You are not stupid, Winona.”

 

“I have stupid thoughts. After all, I’m Human.”

 

Syruk doesn’t answer, patiently awaiting an answer.

 

She sighs.

 

“You were married, right?” she says.

 

“I had a bondmate, yes.”

 

“She died on Vulcan.”

 

“She did.”

 

“You felt it.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Winona bites her lip.

 

“You asked me, once,” she starts. “To bond with you. It was a long while ago, now.”

 

“Fifteen point four years ago.”

 

“Yeah. You said… you said if I said yes, you’d annul your marriage to her and bond… with me.”

 

“That is correct.”

 

“I said no.”

 

“You did.”

 

“What would have happened if I said yes?”

 

Syruk thinks about this.

 

“We would have gone to Vulcan,” he says. “I would have severed my bond with T’Sir and bonded with you. Then I would have returned to the ship with you.”

 

“And you wouldn’t have needed to return for pon farr ever again.”

 

“... That is correct.”

 

“It hurt, when the bond was severed.” She knows this for certain. She knows her… whatever he is, and she knows how to tell he’s in pain.

 

“I felt…” Syruk pauses. “I felt a sudden emptiness. As if she had closed the bond. It did not cause me pain, but it was disconcerting. Our bond had always been weak, so it did not affect me as strongly as it might have. The same can be said for many of our Engineering crew.”

 

“But if I had bonded, you wouldn’t have felt anything at all. You wouldn’t have ever had to leave us.”

 

“... I do not understand what you are attempting to convey, Winona.”

 

“I put you at risk, Syruk.” She shakes her head. “I was selfish, and you could have been… you could have got more fucked up then you already are.”

 

Syruk’s lip twitches into the slightest frown.

 

“Winona, this line of thought is not logical,” he says. “You had your reasons. You were not ready for such a serious—”

 

“That doesn’t matter, asshole. I loved you then, and I still love you now, and if I hadn’t been a stupid, illogical Human, all potential catastrophe might have been avoided altogether.”

 

“You are playing the stupid illogical Human _ now _ , Winona,” Syruk says. “Nothing can be done for my grief. It is not for T’Sir, it is for my people. My planet. Not for a bond that may as well have not existed at all.”

 

Winona sighs. She’s not crying, she’s not that kind of girl, but it… it hurts, to be stupid. She doesn’t do this often.

 

Syruk suppresses a sigh and reaches over to clasp her hand in his.

 

“It is illogical to place blame where there is none,” he says. “You are being silly.”

 

“I…  _ yeah, _ probably. But…”

 

“No buts, Winona.” Syruk moves closer, closer than he’s been since the entirety of their journey. “You did nothing but protect yourself. I accept that.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to.”

 

“But I do. Winona, you are aware of my feelings for you.”

 

“I…”

 

“And you know that my offer still stands. That it has always stood.”

 

“What offer?”

 

“ _ Winona. _ ”

 

And then she gets it.

 

“You still want me to…”

 

“I would very much wish to bond with you, Winona.”

 

Winona sniffs.

 

“You’re an idiot if you wanna marry me.”

 

“I rather think it is the opposite.” Syruk leans forward. “So, must I ask again?”

 

“Ask what?”

 

“Winona, will you bond with me?”

 

“Oh, hell,” she mutters. “You’re a moron.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You want me to marry you!”

 

“Yes.” Syruk smiles slightly. “It seems a logical course of action.”

 

She feels her cheeks go warm and no, she is _ not _ blushing. She isn’t a goddamn  _ teenager _ .

 

“Logical?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Winona sighs.

 

“Well, who am I to fight logic?” she says. “Fine. But… but only if you’re okay with this. Only if you’re a hundred percent sure.”

 

“I am.”

 

“And only if we tell Jim personally.”

 

“I have set up a meal with him tomorrow,” Syruk informs her. “You may do the honors… should you accept.”

 

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

 

“You— of course I accept,” she says, turning completely to bury her face in his chest. “Of course.”

 

“Good.” He bumps his chin on the top of her head when he nods. “Now, if I may be so bold, I have not kissed you in a long time.”

 

Syruk’s always been able to make her laugh. When they first met as a taciturn Vulcan and a furious widow, as coworkers and then partners and then lovers, he’s always been able to make her smile, even in her darkest moods.

 

She’s still laughing when she turns her face up to meet his.

 

… She can’t wait to see Jim’s face.

 


	3. Third Time's the Charm

If Sam had a normal relationship with his brother, he would have shown up on his doorstep the moment he landed. Since he doesn’t have a normal relationship, he, Aurie, and Peter go see Sarek.

 

“He has grown more quickly than I anticipated,” Sarek remarks. Peter is two, nearly three now, and quieter than most Human children tend to be, focused completely on the blocks Aurie had the foresight to bring with her.

 

“Kids tend to do that,” she says, smiling slightly. “At least, that’s what my Mom says.”

 

Sarek thinks motherhood suits Aurie, and is pleased to recognize the signs of a second pregnancy. She probably doesn’t even realize it herself yet, of course— she’s likely only a few weeks along. After such tragedy, it is… heartwarming, to see life progressing in such a way. Or, that’s what Amanda would say, if she were here.

 

Sarek feels a constriction around his heart. He presses a hand to his side in an aborted attempt to soothe away the pain.

 

Sam appears to notice, though— thankfully— he says nothing.

 

Peter is not so polite.

 

Humans teach their young to hold hands. It’s something that makes perfect sense, for their species. As a result, however, they are quite careless with touch, their inexperience with other, non-tactile cultures leading them to do things that would be— among Vulcans, anyway— quite inappropriate.

 

Peter is very quick. Sarek didn’t see him move until little hands rested themselves over his own. Curiosity, uncertainty, and a childish mimicry of worry spark across his thoughts.

 

Too large, patented Kirk-blue eyes peer up at him.

 

“Ow?”

 

Sarek blinks.

 

“I am not injured,” he tells the boy. “It is a small discomfort.”

 

A question. Peter did not understand his words, and wishes for clarification. If he were a Vulcan child, it would be a simple matter to reach an understanding, but Sarek does not trust himself— not with his control so utterly destroyed, not with such a young mind at stake.

 

Instead, he turns his palm in a gesture familiar to a three year old. Peter’s eyes widen slightly as emotions not his own trickle into his consciousness.

 

“Oh,” he says, frowning. His response is a memory, surprisingly clear despite his lack of training, of losing his mother in the grocery store. The memory is strong, the fear and loss clear along their shared communication, tenuous as it is.

 

“Something like that,” Sarek agrees, drawing away. He looks to Aurie. “Your son is highly intelligent.”

 

“Of course he is,” Aurie says, smiling. “He’s mine.”

 

“Hey, I helped.” Sam says, and— humor. It’s the Human way of dealing with emotional trauma. It is strange, but Sarek has long since grown used to the unusual.

 

“I believe it will do your brother good to see you well,” Sarek says, returning to the original topic of conversation. “But I do not believe he will be in a state for visitors of a certain age.”

 

“Oh, Peter’s not coming with us,” Sam says flatly. “I don’t want his first impression of his uncle to be an unwashed, probably-drunk mess.”

 

“We were wondering if you might watch him while we visit,” Aurie says, head tilting questioningly.

 

Sarek looks down at Peter, who has yet to leave his side.

 

“That would be agreeable,” he says finally, watching as the boy runs his fingers across the embroidery edging his robes. “You may leave him with me.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


At seven, Uncle Sarek is Peter’s favorite uncle, not that he’ll ever tell Uncle Jim that. Uncle Jim sends Peter toys— which is awesome, don’t misunderstand, but… Uncle Sarek sends him projects. Like he’s a  _ scientist _ , like his Daddy. He wants to be a scientist like his Daddy. He likes flowers, all of them— even the ugly weed plants that Daddy calls plomeek. When he gets big, he’s going to have a whole greenhouse full of plomeek, because apparently Uncle Sarek likes them, and he likes his Uncle Sarek.

 

But yeah, Uncle Sarek gives him projects. He gets all year to do it (from one birthday to the next), and the more he does for his project, the bigger the next one.

 

Peter can speak Vulcan, now. He can also recite the Pillars of Surak, and do his times tables all the way up to six hundred and twelve.

 

Mommy likes that he talks to Uncle Sarek every other Sunday on the comms. She says Uncle Sarek gets lonely, sometimes, and that Peter helps. Peter doesn’t know how a man like Uncle Sarek can get lonely— he’s an ambassador, his whole job is about meeting new people and making new friends. His stories are always interesting— funny, sometimes, even if he doesn’t mean to be. Peter doesn’t know what a nudist is, but the way Uncle Sarek’s face twitches when he talks about the people of Gernania II is enough to make him pee, just a little.

 

His eighth birthday is coming up soon— in two weeks, in fact. It’s a good thing he’s nearly done last year’s project. He just needs Mommy to finish fixing his spelling before he can send all his research to Uncle Sarek and it’s good to go. He’s titled it The Effects of Sodium-Enriched Fertlizer on Braccha Growth, because the titles of research papers should always be clear as to the subject matter, according to Uncle Sarek. Peter hopes he’ll like it— Braccha plants are hard to come across since the destruction of Vulcan, and the seeds Uncle Sarek sent him were probably really hard to find.

 

Yeah, Uncle Sarek is his favorite. Sue him.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Uncle Jim doesn’t know what to do with Peter, once he’s safe aboard the  _ Enterprise _ . Peter understands— his Dad and Uncle Jim have never been close, and Peter is a quiet mess of grief and taciturn acceptance. He hasn’t cried yet, he doesn’t know why. Maybe he can’t. Regardless, his Mom and Dad are dead and nobody knows what to do with a Kirk that isn’t crazy.

 

He, Uncle Jim, and Uncle Spock have an unspoken understanding that he will not be staying with them. For all that they are kind, good people, they’re ill-equipped to deal with kids long-term. They’ve got their family already, and for all that Peter knows he’d be welcome, he doesn’t think they have room for one more. Or rather, he doesn’t want to think they have room for one more. It feels like he’s intruding just by being on this ship. He doesn’t belong, and doesn’t really want to.

 

He’s a bit like his Dad, that way.

 

They managed to save the majority of his Dad’s research, which is a blessing. Mr. Sulu helps him tend to the experiments, his green thumb and quiet curiosity soothing in a way that Uncle Jim’s fumbling attempts at comfort aren’t. In particular, he’s interested in Bolo, Uncle Sarek’s most recent birthday project.

 

“I just can’t figure it,” Sulu explains one day as Peter spritzes Bolo. “It looks like a plomeek sprout, but the coloring…”

 

“A genetic hybrid,” Peter says. “I was trying to create a hardier subspecies. The spots are a side-effect.”

 

He loves Bolo. She’s his first real success, planted in a flowerpot his mother painted in blue and yellow pinstripes.

 

“What’s your definition of ‘hardier’?”

 

Peter shrugs.

 

“Bolo can survive a Terran winter,” he says. “So long as she’s planted firmly in the ground. And— so long as there’s space to grow— she’ll reproduce like crazy. I’m not sure about the taste, though. I don’t want to cut her up until I’m sure I can make more.”

 

Sulu huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

 

“You Kirks are always doing the impossible,” he says. “This is amazing, you know that?”

 

“Thanks, but we won’t know for sure until I have the space for further tests, there’s no knowing if my hypothesis is correct.” He doesn’t say his Dad had been trying to do it for years, that he never managed, that Peter hid the results from him until he could figure out a way to say  _ hey, Dad, I maybe hijacked your research _ .

 

Welp, the plus side to this situation is that now, he never has to.

 

… He’s spent too much time around Uncle Jim. Time to start cutting dinner short.

  
  


*.*

  
  


A few days later, he meets Dr. McCoy on the observation deck, half-drunk and huddled in the only corner that doesn’t get a full view of the open window. Arching an eyebrow, he takes a seat across the table from his uncle’s best friend.

 

“Exposure therapy,”  McCoy explains before he can ask. “I got it in my head that… never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

 

Peter nods once.

 

“Okay,” he says simply. “I believe you.”

 

McCoy snorts.

 

“You sound like Jim,” he says. “Look a hell of a lot like him, too. But… you’re like Sam.”

 

Peter’s throat tightens.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

The doctor shrugs.

 

“You’re just… like Sam,” he repeats. “I used to talk to him a lot, you know, when Jim would go into crisis mode. Him and Gaila.”

 

“What was he like?” Peter knows what he was like. He just wants to hear it from someone who isn’t Uncle Jim.

 

McCoy thinks about his answer.

 

“Practical,” he decides. “I guess someone had to be, considering Jim and Winona. He was smart like they were, but he… believed in boundaries. He knew when to step back, when to keep quiet.”

 

“That’s why Dad didn’t really talk to Uncle Jim.”

 

“Of course that’s why. Jim’s a mess on his good days. He’d have torn Sam to pieces in a matter of hours if their relationship was anything close to normal, just because he could.” McCoy shifts. “That’s not to say they didn’t love each other— they did, in their weird, Kirkish way, but… they were different.”

 

Dr. McCoy has a very interesting view of Uncle Jim, and of Dad. He talks about relationships, about the ultimately sane decision his Dad made at the tender age of eleven to keep away from the hellspawn that was named James Tiberius Kirk. Peter appreciates his long, rambling explanations of their relationship, interspersed with defensive anecdotes about Jim’s behavior or a non sequitur about his daughter. Peter lets it lull him into a calm that he hasn’t really experienced since things started falling apart in Deneva. It’s nice.

 

After a while, it’s made clear that McCoy needs to return to his quarters. Peter walks him there, because the Doctor’s more than a little unsteady and apparently, it’s his daughter’s birthday.

 

“You’re a good kid, Pete,” McCoy says when they get to the door. “You’re a real good kid.”

 

He ruffles Peter’s hair then, hand heavy against his skull, and with a sigh, he disappears into his room.

 

Peter never mentions that night, not for the rest of the trip. Neither does McCoy.

 

That’s alright for both of them.

  
  


*.*

  
  


When they actually get to Vulcan (the new one, not the one that exploded when he was little), there’s not much to talk about. Jim and Spock beam down with him, talk to Uncle Sarek for a bit, then go back to the ship. Peter’s left alone with his uncle for the first time since he was four years old.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment. Then, Sarek’s mouth pinches in an approximation of a Vulcan sigh.

 

“Come,” he says. “I have noted that extended space travel often causes distress to a Human’s physiological systems. I have a light lunch prepared for us both.”

 

Peter nods, hands tightening around Bolo’s pot.

 

Sarek arches an eyebrow.

 

“That appears to be a plomeek,” he remarks in Vulcan. “Though its coloring is not consistent to the breed native to Vulcan.”

 

Peter hesitates, then holds it out.

 

“This is my birthday project,” he explains, Standard accent faint. “I finished Bolo before… the events on Deneva. I think it might survive here, grow here, even, but I need to run a few more tests before I am sure.”

 

Sarek looks momentarily dumbstruck, shaking it off with all the grace his Vulcan grace would allow.

 

“We will talk over our meal,” he says. “Is that acceptable?”

 

“... It is.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Live long and prosper, Uncle Jim. Uncle Spock.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Petey, what did my father-in-law do to you?” Jim says, eyes wide. “You look like a Vulcan— well, except for the hair. You haven’t got the hair. But the  _ expression _ , oh, God, Bones, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

 

“I am, Jim. How are you, Peter?”

 

“Very well, Doctor McCoy.”

 

Bones huffs a disbelieving laugh.

 

“Okay, that’s weird,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m going to oversee medical resupply. Don’t do anything stupid, Jim. Spock, don’t let him do anything stupid.”

 

“Of course, Doctor.” Spock peers curiously at Peter. “It appears you have embraced Vulcan culture to the fullest you are able.”

 

Peter nods.

 

“It was a logical course of action,” he says. “I live among Vulcans, it is only fit that I accept the culture in as much as I am able.”

 

“Oh, fuck, he said it was logical.  _ Logical _ , Spock! _ Logical. _ ”

 

“I am aware, Jim.”

 

“I’ve got a Vulcan for a nephew. A  _ blond _ Vulcan for a nephew. This is weird.”

 

“Uncle Jim, I have read your mission reports. Considering what you have seen, this is nothing.”

 

“Yeah but—” Jim stops. “You’ve read my mission reports? How have you read my reports.”

 

Smugness colors Peter’s tone.

 

“I have friends in high places.”

 

Jim stares a moment, then curses.

 

“The Pike twins,” he mutters. “I should have known there’d be trouble once Number One spawned.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“He appears to have adjusted admirably, Father.”

 

“He has,” Sarek agrees. “Of my three children, I believe he might be considered the most successful in the study of logic.”

 

Jim’s eyes go wide over Spock’s shoulder. Spock himself has stiffened, mouth half-open.

 

“Yeah, Ambassador, I guess third time’s the charm.” Bones grins and slaps Sarek on the shoulder as he passes, one arm full of what looks like plant samples.

 

Jim is not laughing. The sound that leaves him is more akin to a screech, high-pitched and grating. His face is red, his eyes are bulging, and his smile is so wide Spock can see the hinge of his jaw.

 

“Bones— fucking— burn!”

 

Sarek glances at Spock.

 

“Is your bondmate well?” he inquires.

 

“He is attempting to process the Doctor’s words,” Spock explains.

 

“Oh?”

 

“He cannot speak now, but he wishes for me to say…” Spock pauses, wincing just slightly. “He wishes to say… ‘sick burn, Bones’.”

 

“I do not understand,” Sarek says.

  
“And I, sadly, do.”


	4. Bones, Number One, and Fucking Jim™

Leonard is the one Number One comes to when she realizes something is off, because she has a full psychological profile of the man, has had time to observe his technique, has had personal experience with him, and believes he will keep a secret from Jim, if only out of spite.

 

“Well, Commander, you were right,” he says, reading the results from her blood test carefully. “You’re pregnant. Congratulations, I think.”

 

She nods thoughtfully.

 

“I believe I am pleased,” she says after a moment. “I believe Chris will be pleased, as well— once he gets over the shock.”

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“After Jim, he can handle anything,” he says. “You’re about eight weeks along, if you want to know. You’re due in December.”

 

“Fascinating.” Number One rubs a hand absently across her abdomen. “It is strange that such a thing could be happening without my knowledge.”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Leonard says. “So, I’ll pass this along to your doctor— you’ll need to keep regular appointments, of course, and preferably not go into space. Can you do that?”

 

“Of course, Doctor McCoy.” Number One hops off the biobed. “I’ll see you in four weeks’ time.”

 

Leonard blinks.

 

“Um, not to be rude, ma’am, but no, you won’t,” he says. “I’m not your primary doctor.”

 

“If you read my forms, you’ll find you are,” she says. “The documents were changed prior to my visit.”

 

“No.” He picks up the nearest PADD. “No. No. Number One, please—”

 

“You can handle Jim, you can handle me. Which reminds me— do not tell Jim. I would like to see the look on his face when I tell him myself.”

 

“You don’t think I have my hands full with that idiot?” he barks. “I can’t handle your crazy too. Ma’am,” he tacks on, eyes wide as he stares at her.

 

She meets his gaze, serene. Her lip quirks.

 

“I like you, Doctor McCoy,” she says. “I see why Jim keeps you around.” Straightening her uniform, she brushes past him in quick, assured steps.

 

“I’ll see you in four weeks,” she says, disappearing into the hall.

 

Leonard sits down.

 

He needs a fucking drink.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Chris is ecstatic,” Number One informs him next time she appears in his Medbay. “He’s already put me on medical leave, per your instructions.”

 

“I knew you wouldn’t tell him my recommendations,” Leonard says flatly. “Starfleet officers never listen to their doctors.”

 

She smirks.

 

“You’re learning,” she says approvingly. “Good.”

 

He sighs as she settles on the nearest biobed.

 

“I wish to know the sex of the child,” she says. “Are you able to determine it?”

 

“Well, I’m not totally familiar with Illyrian physiology, but we can check.” Leonard moves to stand beside her, tricorder in hand.

 

She closes her eyes when the familiar hum of the scanner begins. She doesn’t know why, but she does.

 

“Well, it looks like— no, wait, let me do that again. I think…”

 

The scanner starts over. She feels an odd flutter in her stomach.

 

“Is something wrong?” she asks calmly. Her throat is tightening, a sensation she hasn’t felt since… Tarsus.

 

“No, not at all, Commander.” Leonard steps back, brow furrowed. “I just thought the tricorder was malfunctioning, but it appears not.”

 

“And?”

 

He looks up.

 

“You’re having twins,” he says. “One boy, one girl. Congratulations.”

 

Warmth blooms in her chest, unexpected and startling. She presses a hand to her heart.

 

“I… truly?”

 

“Yep.” Leonard sets the tricorder aside and grins. “Got it all in one fell swoop, huh?”

 

“Yes.” There is a wetness on her cheeks, she realizes as she sits up. She’s… crying?

 

“I hope to God those are tears of joy, Commander, because I don’t know what to do with crying women.”

 

She can’t help the chuckle that bubbles past her lips.

 

“You, Doctor McCoy, are an odd man,” she says, wiping her face with the sleeve of her uniform. “You say such things, yet make no comment about my reputation.”

 

“Reputation?”

 

“As a cold-hearted bitch,” she says. “I know. I’m okay with it. People leave me alone if they think I’ll kill them in their sleep.”

 

“Well, I mean, you’re pregnant,” Leonard says, shifting uncomfortably. “The hormones are bound to mess with you. It happens to everyone.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, of course. Come on, you’ve gotten the Talk before.”

 

“Of course.” A vague memory of a lecture on the specifics of intercourse surfaces. “I was unaware of the physiological effect beyond… pregnancy.”

 

Leonard sighs, running a hand through his hair.

 

“I’ll give you some reading,” he promises. “You’ll be fine.”

 

And she will be. This is the man who took over her old position as Jim’s Caretaker™. So far as she can tell, Jim’s still alive, and in acceptable health.

 

A man who can boast such achievements has her trust.

 

“It is strange,” she says, hand finding her stomach. This has been happening with increasing regularity since the confirmation of her pregnancy. The lack of control over her own body has been... disturbing.

 

“What is? Being pregnant? Like I said, I wouldn’t know.”

 

Number One looks up.

 

“There are not many of my kind left,” she says. “But… should these children survive incubation, there will be two more. Instead of a thousand Illyrians in the galaxy, there will be one thousand and two.”

 

“And they’ll be yours,” Leonard says. “Kids… they change things, Number One. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

“I have an inkling.” She shifts. “Despite my best efforts, I often consider Jim…” she trails off. She’s never… she’s never spoken of this, of her unwavering devotion to the little boy she killed for.

 

Leonard hesitates, then puts a hand on her shoulder.

 

“You don’t have to say it,” he says, smiling earnestly. “I get it.”

 

Does he? She supposes he might.

 

“Leonard?”

 

“Yes, Number One?”

 

“These hormones are affecting me negatively,” she says. “I am far too emotional to continue my duties.”

 

“Good thing Pike put you on medical leave, huh?”

 

She glares.

 

“Perhaps,” she admits. “Leonard?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Should you let slip the events of today…” she pauses. “You will find that my reputation is more than hearsay.”

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“Of course,” he says, stepping back. “Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality? Your breakdown’s safe with me. Promise.”

 

Oh, yeah. She definitely likes him.

  
  


*.*

  
  


The Narada Incident happens. People are killed, Vulcans are emotionally compromised, and Chris Pike ends up nearly dead.

 

It’s okay, they get him back. Leonard even manages to keep him alive, which he thinks Number One appreciates.

 

It’s weird, being on first name basis with the Commander, mostly because that means that he’s on first name basis with an Admiral, too— an Admiral that won’t stop calling him.

 

“She’s eating all the carbs she can get her hands on.” Pike sounds nervous. “She’s gone to the store  _ three times _ , Leonard, this isn’t normal. This can’t be normal.”

 

“Maybe it is for Illyrians, Chris, just let her do her thing. She’ll be fine.”

 

“You _ don’t know?  _ What do you _ mean  _ you don’t know?”

 

“Chris, she’s Illyrian. All the records were lost. We’ve got no idea what makes her tick.” Leonard cuts off whatever the Admiral was going to say next. “I’m keeping an eye on her, Chris. She’s pregnant, not radioactive. Leave the poor woman alone and go to bed. I know you’re up, I can hear the strain in your voice.” 

 

“But—”

 

“No buts. As your doctor, I am ordering you to rest. You’re lucky you’re even home to watch this, okay? One more word out of you and I’ll have you back in the hospital before you can say ‘court martial’, got it?”

 

Irritated, Leonard hangs up. On the Admiral. 

 

He doesn’t even feel bad about it.

 

“Who was that?” Jim asks through a mouthful of food, sliding the patio door open. “You look pissed.”

 

Leonard rolls his eyes.

 

“Nobody,” he says. “Just an expectant father getting the jitters. His wife’s getting a little crazy.”

 

Not really. Number One was already crazy. Now she’s just… different.

 

“Really?” Jim swallows. “But Bones, you’re not an obstetrician.”

 

“And?”

 

“Why do you have a pregnant patient?”

 

“Because I’m the primary care doctor of a bunch of people. Some of them happen to be able to get pregnant.”

 

“But, Bones, I know all your patients.”

 

“No you don’t.”

 

“I know all your important ones,” Jim amends. “So, who’s pregnant? Sulu? I know he and Ben have been looking into surrogates.”

 

“No, not yet.” Though he’ll be available the moment they find someone suitable.

 

“Okay. Um… Uhura? Does Uhura have a boyfriend?”

 

“No.”

 

“Gaila?”

 

“Do you think your sister would be able to keep that secret from you?” Bones rolls his eyes. “She can’t keep it to herself when she uses the last of the toothpaste, let alone something like a baby.”

 

“Chapel?”

 

“Dude.”

 

“T’Pring?”

 

“ _ Jim. _ ”

 

“Alright, sorry.” Jim holds up his hands— as if Bones is going to fall for that. “But like… do you  _ know _ any other girls?”

 

“Of course I know other women, you complete prick.”

 

Jim laughs.

 

“I forget you’re a slut, sometimes. You always come off so proper.”

 

“Takes one to know one, whore.” Leonard grins. “What’s for breakfast?”

 

Jim’s distracted by food, and Leonard thinks it’s the end of it.

 

It’s not.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Jim, what’s wrong?”

 

Jim looks pale, vaguely green.

 

“I know who it is,” he says blankly.

 

Leonard squints up at him. It’s three-thirty in the morning, and he’s only got two hours of sleep left.

 

“What?”

 

“I know which patient of yours is pregnant.”

 

Leonard’s eyes widen. His stomach drops. No. Number One’s going to kill him and hang his guts on the Narada Memorial as a warning to the others.

 

“It’s Mommy.”

 

Shit, he— wait, what? No. Winona cannot spawn another one. Not a part-Vulcan. The thing would take over the galaxy before its six birthday.

 

His mouth gapes, the image of a green-blooded Jim-clone searing itself into his brain. No.  _ No. _ No. Think happy thoughts, Leonard. Peach tea and an empty Medbay and a full night’s sleep.

 

“Why would she hide this from me?” Jim demands, apparently taking his silence as confirmation. “I’ve always wanted a little brother— why would she tell you and not me?”

 

“Well, I mean, I am a doctor, so…” Even if she isn’t actually pregnant, it does make sense.

 

“That’s not the point, Bones! She didn’t tell me, her own flesh and blood, but—” Jim cuts himself off, pulling out his comm. “I’m messaging her right now. Why the hell…”

 

Distracted, he wanders out, eyes glued to the little screen.

 

Leonard lets out a little sigh. Number One’s secret is still safe. For now.

 

Which… yeah, maybe he ought to give her a little warning. Reaching blindly for his comm, he opens his messages.

  
  


Dr. McCoy:

Jim knows one of my patients is pregnant. He thinks it’s Winona.

 

Number One:

This is amusing. I will inform her of this development.

Perhaps she will be willing to play along.

 

Dr. McCoy:

What do you mean?

 

Number One:

I enjoy antagonizing the men in my life. Jim is now a man. He should be treated no differently.

 

Dr. McCoy:

Oh fuck.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Why isn’t Mommy on medical leave?”

 

Bones closes his eyes and prays for patience.

 

“She’s your mother, Jim. You tell me.”

 

“You’re right.” Jim pauses. “I need to convince Syruk to convince her to go on leave. No more space babies. Look what happened to me, for Christ’s sake.”

 

Jim would make a good big brother, Leonard muses as he watches him text angrily back and forth with Winona. He’s getting screenshots from her, which is amusing, even if he does feel a little guilty.

 

It’s still funny.

 

He has an appointment with Number One later that day, disguised as an appointment with Pike. She’s six months in and still not showing— this might be cause for concern, though he’s unsure if it’s just another Illyrian quirk. There are a lot of those, apparently. Bones has been keeping a list.

 

*.*

  
  


He has the access codes to the Pike apartment.

 

It isn’t unusual for him to just walk in.

 

“Number One, let’s get to it,” he calls, shutting the door behind him. “You’re not planet-sized and I want to know why—”

 

“Hey, Len.”

 

He freezes, jacket half-pulled off his shoulders. Gaila is sitting on the couch with Pike, eyes the size of saucers.

 

“It isn’t Mommy,” she says, full of wonder. “It’s  _ Daddy _ .”

 

Chris looks uncomfortable.

 

“We were gonna tell you,” he starts, but then Gaila hugs him, effectively cutting off his air supply.

 

“I’m so happy,” she says. “Daddy’s gonna have a baby— well, Number One’s gonna have a baby, but— I’m gonna have a little brother! Or sister? Number One, are you having a boy or a girl?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Gaila blinks.

 

“Twins?”

 

Number One nods.

 

“Leonard thinks they will be born in December.”

 

“Christmas babies,” Gaila says. “Best. Present. Ever.”

 

Leonard sighs.

 

“Well, anyway,” he says, turning to Number One. “Check up?”

 

“Please.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


The whole house knows before he manages to get back. This isn’t unexpected. Neither is Jim’s pout.

 

“You let me believe my mother was knocked up by her Vulcan boyfriend,” Jim says. “You’re the worst friend  _ ever _ .”

 

“Bondmate.”

 

“What?”

 

“Jim, Syruk’s her bondmate. You know better.”

 

“Same difference. You let me believe a lie.”

 

“I am more scared of Number One than I am of you,” Leonard informs him flatly. “Sorry, Jim, you’re just not quite up to snuff compared to a legally sanctioned serial killer with the protection of her Admiral lover. Sucks to be you.”

 

Jim looks like he wants to argue, but the point has been made, even if he doesn’t like it.

 

“There’s no loyalty,” he complains, flopping down onto the couch beside him. “I hate you.”

 

“You always say the sweetest things.”

 

“Have they yet decided on names?” Spock inquires.

 

“Chris has got a few in mind,” Bones says. “No certainties, though.”

 

“And you’re going to be there, right?” Jim asks. “For the whole giving birth part of being pregnant.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s— yes, Jim, I’m going to be there.”

 

“Call me as soon as she shows up, you got that? That’s for reparations for keeping this a secret.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

“Promise me, Bones.”

 

“I promise.”

 

Jim holds out his pinky. Leonard scoffs.

 

“What are you, six?”

 

“Come on, Bones.”

 

Sighing, he grabs his pinky.

 

“Promise. Now will you leave me alone? I want a nap before dinner.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


On December fourth, Number One delivers two healthy children— one boy, one girl. Bones hopes he never sees another Illyrian birth in his lifetime, but the experience was interesting.

 

Still, he excuses himself the moment he can put a baby in Pike’s arms- the girl, he thinks. He didn’t check, in his haste to find a place where he can hyperventilate in peace. This means he misses the most important conversation two new parents can have.

 

“So, what are we naming them?”

 

Number One arches an eyebrow, like it’s a stupid question.

 

“She is Number Two,” she says, pointing at the bundle in his arms. “And this is Number Three.”

 

Chris blinks.

 

“We are not naming our children by their order of birth,” he says flatly. “They need names.  _ Real _ names.”

 

“Is my name not real?”

 

“Of course it is, just- not by Human custom.”

 

“Two and Three are not Human.”

 

“Well, they’re not Illyrian, either,” Chris says. “Okay? They need Terran names- something that we can put in writing without child services making regular visits.”

 

Number One thinks about this, then nods.

 

“Very well,” she says. “Call them what you like. They are Number Two and Number Three to me. That is what matters.”

 

Chris doesn’t feel like arguing the point. Jim learned to decide things from somewhere, and Number One has very well decided.

 

Three days later, Number One is released with a child carrier and a reminder to  _ rest, for God’s sake.  _ Chris is the one that handles all the paperwork, of course, and gets the look when he tells Leonard the twins’ names.

 

“Beatrice Two Pike and Connor Three Pike,” Leonard says, shaking his head. “You’re crazy, Chris.”

 

“Yeah,” Pike agrees tiredly, because of course he is. He would have to be, to keep his First Officer turned Lover turned Mother of His Children. He is invested in Number One’s continued happiness, after all- more than partially because happiness usually leads to less murder, but also because in three, four, ten years, she’s going to sneak through his things, key in the thirty-two digit code of the safe in his office that changes every month, and find these two little slips, printed for personal and practical purposes, and she’ll maybe not kill him for whatever reason that prompted her to go through his things in the first place.

  
Chris is a good captain because he thinks ahead. Jim could learn a thing or two.


	5. Bones and His Ring— Because It's His Fucking Ring (Drabble)

Leonard liked that ring. It had been in his family for literally centuries— it was a goddamn heirloom, meant for the firstborn of every generation. His couple times great-grandfather had given it to his couple times great-grandmother after looting it from a Nazi’s pretty-as-you-please mansion, it’s so old. Jocelyn gave it back to him after they divorced, sour as that whole situation had been, with the understanding that she could take away everything, if she’d wanted. She’d taken  _ Jo, _ for God’s sake, but she’d given him back his family ring.

 

Spock doesn’t know any of this, of course, and anyway, Leonard can’t really fault him for the situation. Jim had asked to borrow his ring (just for a second, my ass, Leonard thinks viciously), and it had simply ended up on Spock’s finger. It’s not his fault, it really isn’t.

 

Still, Leonard can’t help the annoyance that flashes through him whenever they’re at a formal function, because Spock— who normally keeps his hands free of anything superfluous like, oh, wedding bands— seems to use Leonard’s ring as a way to ward off any and all flirtatious foreign diplomats. He gets it, he does, but Jesus, does it burn him up inside to see that blue gemstone winking at him whenever Spock throws up the salute.

 

That ring was supposed to go to his daughter.

 

At the same time, he’s gotten sort of used to seeing it with Spock. Spock’s sort of family, he supposes, as much a charge of Leonard’s as Jim is, as much as anybody on the Enterprise. And Jo? Jo’s not one for jewelry, really. Better for the ring to stay in the hands of someone who’ll take care of it. Jo’s a lot of things, but organized isn’t one of them. The ring would end up at the bottom of a bag of cheap costume crap to be forgotten about and inevitably lost or stolen or sold.

 

Spock’ll do right by the McCoys, by the history he wears around his neck most days and on his hand on certain others. And maybe, just maybe, when Jo’s had kids of her own about marrying age, Spock will do what Leonard always meant and pass it on.

  
First, though, he’ll have to explain.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [not-freyja](https://not-freyja.tumblr.com) and [straight-outta-hobbiton](https://straight-outta-hobbiton.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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